


Tell Me What You Want (Tell Me, Please)

by LiviKate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek is a Failwolf, M/M, Misunderstandings, Praise Kink, Top Stiles Stilinski, under-negotiated sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5348942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviKate/pseuds/LiviKate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Twice in two days?” Stiles’ voice quivered. “You’re getting greedy.” Derek hummed against the shell of his ear before stroking his tongue over the lobe.</p><p>“I can’t get enough of you,” he admitted, eyed closed, fingers sneaking under the hem of his shirt. “So perfect for me,” Derek whispered into the space behind his ear. “All mine.” Stiles groaned underneath him, thighs falling wide on either side of his hips.</p><p>“Alright, you sweet talker, you.”</p><p> </p><p>In which Stiles bottoms until he doesn't and Derek tries talking about his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me What You Want (Tell Me, Please)

Derek’s hands tightened on the jut of Stiles’ hipbones, slipping in the sweat layering their skin as he struggled to hold a steady rhythm. Stiles was shuddering in front of him, braced on his knees and one hand, the other constantly moving on his cock, hanging heavy between his thighs. He kept clenching around Derek, giving these little shudders and whimpers, sometimes bearing down so hard Derek was surprised it didn’t hurt him.

He slid a hand along the grove of Stiles’ spine, watching in open-mouthed amazement as the muscles under his pale skin bunched and tensed. His shoulder blades rippled with every jerk of his cock, his back muscles flexing as he kept his balance against the force of Derek’s thrusts. Derek stroked over to the thin skin over his ribs, feeling the muscles fluttering under his skin.

“You look so good like this,” Derek murmured hoarsely, running both hands up either side of Stiles’ spine, meeting on the meat of his lats. Stiles made a little moan underneath him, tightening around his dick.

“Like what?” He gasped out, forehead pressed into the bed, arm pumping, bicep bulging. “Tell me.”

“Strong,” Derek answered, and Stiles groaned, pushing back on his cock. Derek squeezed his hands against the pale body in front of him, stroking back down over the muscle. “I love your back. Fucking pretty, so fucking long. I like watching it flex, watching you move while I fuck you,” Derek panted out, hands sliding back around his hips and yanking him back hard into his next thrust forward, burying himself deep.

Derek picked up speed, rhythm continuing to deteriorate as Stiles hissed hard through his teeth, as if in pain. He could feel the body-warmed lube sliding down over his balls and onto Stiles’ where they jerked with the momentum of his fist sliding over his cock.

“Fuck, Derek, keep talking,” Stiles gritted out, face red.

“So strong,” Derek bit out, grinding hard against his ass, blindingly tight around Derek. He was always so tight. Stiles fell down onto his shoulders, his free hand taking a fistful of the sheets, shoulder blades tensing together, making his whole back ripple as his hips jerked away from Derek and down against his own fist. “Strong, so good for me,” Derek said again. “I like seeing you strong. Like knowing you could take care of me, take care of our pack.” Derek fell forward as Stiles keened, needing to bury his face in the flushed skin of his mate’s neck, teeth itching with the urge to bite. Stiles’ throat vibrated against the bridge of the wolf’s nose with his next shuddering moan.

“Keep talking to me,” Stiles gasped. “Please, I’m close.”

When Stiles bottomed, nothing made him come faster than Derek whispering to him. Right in his ear or against his skin, telling him how good he looked, how hot, how sexy. Derek didn’t mind. He liked the intimacy, the permission to say all the things he wasn’t yet comfortably enough to really say another other time. And it made Stiles come so fucking hard.

Derek curled one arm tight around Stiles’ hips, momentarily disrupting the younger man’s rhythm on his cock, causing a whimper and a quiver in the muscles deep in his ass. He kissed his shoulder in apology before wrapping his other arm around his chest and pulling him up to sit in his lap, back curved beautifully against the wolf’s chest. He sunk deeper and Stiles’ gasped wetly, his face screwed up with the intensity, fist flying over his dick. Derek’s wolf rumbled in satisfaction, rolling his hips up into the tight grip.

“Please, Derek, talk to me,” Stiles asked quietly. “I need to hear you.”

“So beautiful,” he murmured directly into his ear, lips brushing the delicate shell, flushed red. “So perfect like this, you’re so beautiful. Strong, sexy, _fuck_ ,” Derek cut off, fucking up hard into the wet heat. “I love you like this, so perfect for me, fuck, yeah, Stiles, god, so good, love you so much.”

Stiles moaned, high and shuddering as his orgasm burst out of him, come splattering on the bedsheets with the speed he brought himself off with. He clenched down impossibly hard around Derek and he couldn’t help but sink human teeth into the ball of the shoulder in front of him, thrust a dozen more times into that painfully perfect heat before coming, shattering apart over Stiles’ back.

Stiles slid from Derek's arms and flopped down onto the dirty sheets, legs stretching gratefully out behind him. Derek followed him down, letting his face press between Stiles’ shoulders, letting his boyfriend hold his weight for a little bit. Just a little bit, before he got up to get something to clean them off with.

He was asleep before Stiles could complain about how heavy he was.

 

*******

           

The next day most the pack made their way over to the loft, content to spend the summer days lounging about amongst friends. Allison, Scott and Isaac had claimed the couch, tangling themselves together, one of Allison’s hands in each of the boys’ hair. Stiles was sprawled lazily in the arm chair, getting brutally beating in smash bros by Erica (again).

Derek stood in the doorway to the kitchen, surveying the happy pack sharing his space. He couldn’t help the small smile that crept into the corner of his lips. Lydia nudged him on her way back from grabbing a diet soda, giving him a knowing look, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“C’mon Derek, you’re allowed to smile,” She scolded as they walked back towards the group, drink in hand.

“Is boobear being a grumpy wolfie-poo again?” Stiles asked, dropping the controller on the ground without a second glance at the screen, opening his arms to his partner instead. His character stood dumbly on the screen, powerless to avoid Erica’s assault.

“That was utter nonsense,” Derek said.

“And you love it,” Stiles assured him with a firm nod of his head.

Derek simply raised an eyebrow at him and perched on the arm of the chair. Stiles huffed and wrapped an arm around his waist, tugging him down towards his lap. Derek resisted.

“Let me cuddle you, you big loser, you know you like it,” Stiles encouraged, long fingers looping through a belt loop and pulling gently. Derek sighed and looked skyward, as if sliding sideways into his boyfriend’s lap was the most painful sort of struggle.

“Wow, that was so enthusiastic,” Isaac drawled, gazing lazily over from where his head was pillowed on Allison’s shoulder, one hand drawing aimless circles on Scott’s knee.

“Shut up Lahey,” Stiles sniffed, hooking his chin over Derek’s shoulder, arms winding around his torso, pulling him back to relax against his chest. Derek was always surprised how well they fit together, Stiles’ broad shoulders fitting well against his, his strong thighs shifting under him to better distribute his weight.

“No, really, he seems overjoyed,” Isaac said again, grinning at the scowl on Derek’s face.

“He is,” Stiles assured, one wide palm splayed over Derek’s chest. “It’s just all buried very deep down.”

“Sure it is,” Jackson snorted from his spot leaning indifferently against the back of the couch, waiting to play winner. “I bet Derek’s buried a lot of feelings _deep, deep down_. How else would he stand you?”

“Fuck you, too, man,” Stiles said, flipping him off with the hand not pressed flat to Derek’s heartbeat. Jackson sneered, walking towards them to smack Stiles’ hand down and swipe up the controller off the ground.

“Really though,” Danny asked from his spot on the floor by Erica. “How are things going? You two aren’t sick of each other yet?” He had a joking smile on, giving Stiles the opportunity to brag on his new relationship.

“Never,” Stiles agreed with a grin, and Derek felt the steady beat of his heart pressed tight against his back. “Mr. Frowny Face here is gonna be stuck with me for a long time.”

“Yay,” Derek said sarcastically, rolling his eyes, making Isaac cackle from inside the polypile and even pulling a smile from Boyd, breaking his intense concentration as he worked on braiding Erica’s hair.

“Oh, hush, you,” Stiles said, patting his chest and smacking a loud, wet kiss into the side of Derek’s neck, which earned him a glare as Derek wiped it off. “You love me, your secret’s out big guy, you’re not fooling anyone.” Stiles grinned up at him, eyes sparkling even as Derek huffed at him.

“You’re fooling yourself, Stilinski,” Jackson muttered, eyes glued to the screen.

“Knock it off, Jackson,” Lydia said, not even glancing up from where she was painting her nails on the coffee table. Jackson bristled at the reprimand.

“Really though, I’ve never heard Derek say he even likes you,” Jackson scoffs. “You’re putting words in his mouth.”

“Oh, I put a lot in his mouth,” Stiles retorted coolly, a grin on his face. Startled laughter rose from the group, even more so at Scott’s horrified face.

“Ew, okay, ew,” he said. “Too much, dude, I didn’t need to hear that. There are some things brothers just don’t need to know about each other.”

“True,” Stiles agreed. “Which is why I haven’t asked where your other hand is.”

Erica whipped her head around so fast, in the hopes of catching sight of some groping, that her almost finished braid shook loose back into wild curls. The triad on the couch blushed, and Stiles burst into laughter at the crestfallen look on Boyd’s face as nearly fifteen minutes of work bounced free. His infectious laughter bubbled through Derek’s back until the whole room was giggling.

Derek settled back further into his seat, resting his head back on Stiles’ shoulder, content to close his eyes and let Stiles’ long fingers tap idle patterns right over the spot in his chest where he felt the warmth of the pack feedback loop, lazy happiness filling the room.

 

                                                         ********

 

The evening found Derek’s hands tightening on the steering wheel as Danny tried to start a conversation for the eighth time in as many minutes. It was insufferable. He was really starting to regret giving the kid a lift. But Jackson had been his ride home before he stormed out after losing to nearly everyone present in smash bros, leaving his friend stranded. As everyone headed home, Stiles leaned in close and whispered the promise of a rimjob into his ear if he did the pack a solid and drove Danny home.

“C’mon man, this shouldn’t be so hard,” Danny said with a chuckle. “We’ve known each other for, like, three years now. Surely we’ve got some common interests.”

Derek simply raised an eyebrow, not looking away from the road. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Danny, he just wasn’t _pack_. Specifically, he’d opted out of a place in the pack, preferring to stay pack-adjacent, as Stiles put it.

Danny just shook his head good naturedly and said “I can’t believe you can be dating Stiles and still be this bad at small talk.”

Derek glowered at that. Stiles never small talked. Nothing Stiles ever said was small. That was part of the reason his constant stream of words was remarkable, and why it was annoying. Stiles could make the weather interesting, could even relate it back to the philosophy of feminism if you let him go for long enough. Being with Stiles, even for the two months they’d been together, hadn’t taught Derek to use his words any better. Stiles had taught him to listen, to communicate without as many words, and trust that Stiles knew what he meant.

“Oh, wait,” Danny began, excitedly. “That’s our common interest!  We’ve both fucked Stiles!”

Okay, so maybe Derek didn’t like Danny.

A growl rumbled through his teeth, shoulders tensing, and Danny laughed, like that was exactly the reaction he expected. He laughed harder at the glare he was favored with.

“I’ll pull over,” Derek threatened. Danny just chuckled some more, before falling quiet.

Danny’s scent went vaguely spicy with the jump in his heart rate, and Derek was been very close to actually pulling over, knowing exactly what the he was thinking about. Then Danny said, “Well, I guess to be more accurate, I should say that Stiles has fucked both of us.”

“What,” he asked gruffly, frowning. His frown deepened when Danny brightened, having successfully drawn him into giving a response.

“Well, saying we’ve fucked Stiles implies we were doing the fucking, when we both know that’s not how it went,” Danny answered, twisting his broad shoulders in his seat, looking more directly at the side of Derek’s face.

He smirked smugly, knowing Danny would see it. But the boy just laughed and clapped a hand down on Derek’s leather clad shoulder.

“Dude, you don’t have to pretend with me,” he said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I know taking it up the ass doesn’t make you any less macho. Or whatever it is you’re going for here.”

Derek actually looked at him this time, raising the eyebrow directly and giving his passenger a look.

“Stiles never bottomed for you?” Derek asked carefully.

“No, of course not. He told me how much he hated it, how it just didn’t work for him.” Danny shrugged before looking at Derek with very honest eyes. “I never pushed, in case you were wondering whether you  had to “teach me a lesson.” I’d never hurt him like that. I’m really glad you’re good with it, too. I know your relationship is none of my business, but Stiles is still my friend, and I’m glad to see him happy.”

            Derek pulled up ( _finally!)_ to the Mahealani household and shoved the car in to park with a bit more force than necessary.

            “I gotta say, though,” Danny said, gathering his bag from the footwell, “I never pegged you as a bottom. ‘Verse, sure, but not a dedicated bottom. I guess that’s what you get for buying into stereotypes. Thanks for the ride!” and with a wave tossed over his shoulder, Danny pushed the door closed and sauntered up his front steps.

            Derek sat in the driveway for ten minutes thinking about how hard he’d fucked Stiles the night before.

            He spent the drive home thinking about what it meant. Thinking about Stiles quivering around him, always just a little too loud, a little too sweaty. Stiles always was a little more controlled when he topped, dominant with his words as much as his hands, making Derek feel owned and treasured. He hoped he did the same for his partner. Hoped he’d earned what Stiles had offered him.

Stiles had never said to him that he didn’t like bottoming. They had plenty of discussions about limits, which mostly included Stiles asking question after question while Derek nodded or shook his head, but bottoming had never been a hard limit. Sure, Stiles had stated a preference, which worked perfectly well with Derek, who, though he had never bottomed before, had found he very, very much liked the change. But sometimes Derek liked to fuck as well as be fucked, and Stiles had never so much as hinted that he wasn’t okay with that.

It made him feel special, actually. Knowing that he, alone, was the one person allowed inside Stiles. That they’d both only topped before each other. That they came together in every, perfect way.

It made him hungry for it. Made the wolf under his skin restless, prowling around his chest, keyed up with the need to provide. To do for his lover what he, alone, could do.

He parked the Camaro in the lot and started jogging his way up the stairs, already tuned in to the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat. He slid open the door to see Stiles curled up on the couch, a textbook propped against his bent knees, a highlighter cap held in his teeth.

“Hey you,” he said, spitting the cap out into his lap, a grin taking over his face. “I texted my dad, so I’m good for the night. Ready to collect?” His eyebrows did a ludicrous dance that should not have done anything for Derek at all. Nonetheless, he went stalking towards the couch, pushing aside the textbook and occupying its space between his knees.

“Something like that,” he mumbled into the hollow of his throat before introducing his teeth to the thin skin there. Stiles shuddered underneath him, hands smoothing through his hair, dropping the marker only after dragging it once across Derek’s scalp.

“One rimjob, coming up,” Stiles breathed against his forehead. “Your ass _belongs_ on my face.”

“I’ll take a raincheck,” he grumbled, scraping his chest down against the idiotic ironic tee pinned to the couch below him. “I’d much rather fuck you tonight.”

“Twice in two days?” Stiles’ voice quivered. “You’re getting greedy.” Derek hummed against the shell of his ear before stroking his tongue over the lobe.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he admitted, eyed closed, fingers sneaking under the hem of his shirt. “So perfect for me,” Derek whispered into the space behind his ear. “All mine.” Stiles groaned underneath him, thighs falling wide on either side of his hips.

“Alright, you sweet talker, you.”

Derek grinned, toothy and unapologetically wolfish, before grabbing the body beneath him by the belt and dragging him to his feet. Pushing and herding, he pushed the younger man towards the wall of windows, puling them free of their shirts, dragging his hands over his ribs and hips as Stiles drug his feet. Derek pressed the teen against the glass, nosing down into his collar.

“Kinky,” Stiles commented, looking out at the empty street below them. Derek drove his hips forward, getting friction on his rapidly growing hard-on and relishing in the sound of big hands slapping down against the glass.

“Stay,” he growled into his ear, heading to the bed to grab the lube from under the pillows. By the time he returned, Stiles’ head was hanging low, neck long and beautiful in the light of the setting sun. He tucked himself in tight to his back, pressing the lube up into the younger man’s hand so he could divest them both of their jeans and boxers. He knelt down, guiding the fabric over the long lengths of Stiles’ feet. He slid his hands up the length of his legs, scratching through the coarse, dark hair before taking thick handfuls of ass, spreading his cheeks to lick inside.

“Guh,” Stiles said elegantly, not fighting Derek as he manually titled his hips for easier access.

“Lube,” Derek requested, scraping his teeth over his hole. He heard a thunk and ducked his head between pale legs to see the bottle rolling on the ground before him. “Nice,” he commented, digging his teeth into the meat of a thick, strong thigh. He grabbed the lube and stood up, pouring a layer onto two fingers, hooking one elbow around Stiles’ chest, the other hand slipping between his cheeks.

Stiles pressed his forehead against the window as the first finger pressed in, grimacing at the lingering soreness from the day before. Derek shushed him, stroking soothingly across his chest, tweaking a rosy nipple as he stretched and spread the lube around the inside of his rim, making way for the next finger.

“You’re quiet today,” Stiles commented, after several moments of nothing but panting and stretching. Normally Derek would’ve started talking by now, knowing Stiles liked to hear it. It was strange to get used to, how much Stiles wanted to hear him. But it was oddly easy to let absentminded praise fall from his lips at moments like these. It was probably a little worrying, how readily Derek could say things he never would’ve dreamed of letting out just a few months prior.

Tonight, though, was not a night for dirty talk. Tonight, he just wanted them both to focus on feeling it.

“I’m a quiet guy,” he replied simply, chest vibrating against Stiles’ back, fingers scissoring him open, tugging as he pulled out, pulling a whimper out of the body before him. He drizzled lube over his dick, stroking quickly before pressing in.

Stiles groaned, forehead creasing, one hand falling to stroke himself.

Derek rested his forehead against the nape of his neck, watching him slide into the tight vice of Stiles’ body, still incredibly tight, even after last night’s fucking. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation, listening to Stiles’ ragged breath. The stroking of Stiles’ arm was shaking Derek’s head where it rested on his back, so he grabbed his hand and pressed it back to the window, twining their fingers and doing the same to the other. Stiles groaned, low in his throat and Derek, pressed his lips to his throbbing jugular.

“Derek,” Stiles panted, his voice already sounding so strained. Derek grinned against his skin, sinking his teeth in. “Derek, talk to me.”

“Just feel it,” he insisted, fucking in hard to push a grunt out of his boyfriend.

“C’mon, Der,” Stiles said, voice shaking. “Talk to me, you know I like that.”

“I know you like this.” Hips snapped forward in a steadily increasing rhythm. “You like my cock in your ass, just me. Just for me.”

“Sure, Derek, yeah like that. Talk to me,” Stiles begged. Derek shushed him, digging his teeth into his shoulder, hands gripping tightly to the slender ones between his and the glass. He rolled his forehead against the dewy skin, eyes drawn down to the flushed skin of Stiles’ ass, always so quick to turn pink from impact. There were a couple, quiet moments of skin against skin and Stiles grunting.

“You gotta give me something,” Stiles said, crackling voice fogging the glass. “A hand, or something, if you’re not gonna talk.”

“I’ll give you something,” Derek chuckled against his skin, rooting his feet and putting more force behind each thrust. Stiles groaned, his head bumping into the window with every push, fingers spasming under the wolf’s grip. The older man flicked his tongue out, collecting the drops of salt slipping from his partner’s hairline. He slid his tongue up the cords of Stiles’ neck, curling into the space behind his ear. He caught the shell between human-sharp teeth and looked forward to meet his gaze in the reflection.

But his eyes weren’t open. Instead, his face was screwed down into a grimace. Derek blinked, teeth releasing his ear as he slowed his pace, and obvious relief flooded across the face in the glass. Derek’s eyes slid down his long body, widening in shock at the sight of his soft dick, swinging lightly with each thrust.

Thrusts which slowed to a stop as the tightness of his body, the stillness of his hips and the tension in his shoulders began culminating into a terrible conclusion.

Derek pulled out, rapidly softening as his stomach churned. His hands slid down shaking arms to rest on heaving ribs before taking a cautious step back, hands falling to his sides.

Stiles slumped against the window, taking a couple deep, resigned breaths, before slowly turning around, leaning against the glass, not meeting Derek’s eye.

“I’m, um. I’m sorry,” Derek started, not really knowing how else to begin.

“It’s not your fault,” the teen replied, nervously rubbing one elbow.

“I did something wrong.” Derek’s hands clenched uselessly at his side, guilt and confusion swirling in his stomach. A pale shoulder lifted lamely. He still wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Stiles, would you look at me? Tell me what I did,” Derek demanded, suddenly feeling awkward in his naked skin, cock soft and sticky between his thighs, feeling both the need to drop down onto his knees and to flee. Stiles finally lifted his head, face going from awkward and embarrassed to contrite and miserable in the space of a heartbeat.

“Don’t look like that,” he urged, stepping up to the older man, putting hands on his overheated, clammy skin. “I know exactly what you’re doing in that sad little head of yours, and please, I'm begging you, don’t.”

“Why?” Derek asked, searching his boyfriend’s face. Stiles’ shrugged again, eyes skittering away. Derek touched a single fingertip, lightly, hesitantly, to his cheek.

“You liked it,” Stiles said, always honest. Derek frowned deeper, eyebrows drawn down.

“You could’ve told me,” he said, stroking smoothly over a dotted cheekbone. Stiles sighed, breath ghosting over his hand before he pulled away, taking his hand in his and pulling him to the couch. He sat, grimacing at the squelch of lube before pulling one foot up underneath him. Derek sat uneasily next to him, feeling unsettled in his own skin. Feeling not unlike a monster.

“Did you think I would make you if you said no?” Derek asked. “Did you think I would force you?” His worst fear sat in his mouth like the scent of decay as he wondered if maybe he _had_ been forcing him.

“ _No_ ,” Stiles said urgently, catching his hand and stroking his thumb over his nails where he knew claws were itching to push through. “No, I know you would never. You’re not like that.” The ‘not like her’ hung unspoken in the air, but the ache behind Derek’s eyes lessened slightly at the steadiness of Stiles’ heartbeat.

“Then why would you let me hurt you like that?” Derek asked, folding his hands tightly around Stiles’.

“It didn’t always hurt,” Stiles lied unconvincingly, and Derek fell further into self-loathing at the words. “No, Derek, please, just listen first, before you do the whole hate-spiral thing,” he said, cupping his face in his hands and ducking in to place a soft kiss on the thin line of his mouth.

“You let me hurt you,” and Derek couldn’t decide if he felt more betrayed by Stiles or by himself for that.

“It was worth it,” Stiles insisted, and though his heartbeat was steady Derek growled at the words.

“It wasn’t worth it,” he bit out, angrily. “You should never let anyone do anything to you that you don’t want.”

“I wanted it,” Stiles promised. At Derek’s glare he hastened to continue. “Maybe not because I like bottoming. I’ll be honest, I really don’t. I never have, it’s just not for me, and I should’ve told you that and I’m sorry.”

Derek shook his head, dropping it down into his palms, frustrated and exhausted, words slipping from between his wrists “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Neither do you,” Stiles insisted. “I should’ve told you and I didn’t. I never said no, I often said an explicit yes, and I came every time.” He brushed a hand through the sweaty hair on the wolf’s forehead, quietly waiting for him to look up.

When he did, it was with sad, misgiving eyes.

“That doesn’t make it okay. I should’ve known. I should’ve noticed it wasn’t good for you.”

“It was good for me,” he countered, not quelling at Derek’s eyebrows. “It was. Not the… penetration, no. But the other stuff.”

“The other stuff? You mean like how you couldn’t take your hand off your dick or you’d go soft?” Anger was in his voice, but they both knew it was directed inward. Derek turned away from the miles of pale skin sitting next to him, sinking back into the cushions, into himself.

“No, the other stuff you did,” Stiles said softly, and Derek could hear him shifting away now that the wolf had closed off, pulling a pillow into his lap, feeling vulnerable and exposed. “I liked how you talked to me. The things you said, they made the,” he paused, searching for the word, “discomfort worth it.”

Derek growled, hating that _discomfort_ is a word his lover could ever have cause to describe their sex life as.

“So dirty talk makes it okay to hurt you?” he asked, turning his head to look at his partner, hating how much he’d curled into himself. Hating that he’d made someone, especially Stiles, feel that small.

“It wasn’t just the dirty talk,” Stiles mumbled, most of his words getting caught by the pillow he was curling around.

“Then what was it?” Derek asked, reaching out, one hand palm up on the couch cushion between them. He knew he didn’t deserve the comforting but that Stiles was craving it. He immediately had a handful of pale skin and slender fingers, wrapping tightly around his own, even though Stiles refused to meet his gaze with is next admission.

“The other stuff, the nice stuff. Like you telling me you loved me and that you liked how I looked.” Stiles shrugged as if what he said was unimportant. “I know it’s just sex talk, it doesn’t mean anything. But, I don’t know, its nice to hear, and you only ever really say it when you’re topping.”

Derek closed his eyes against the shame and tried to swallow around the guilt in his throat. He squeezed their hands until bones creaked.

“It was worth it,” Stiles admitted, voice very small. “Even if it didn’t mean anything. It was worth it.”

“You let me hurt you,” Derek began, voice quivering with anger, and not all of it at himself. “Just so I’d tell you you’re pretty?”

“Hey, some people are very into that,” Stiles said with false levity, pulling his hand free to gesticulate. “Maybe not me, or actually not me on that end of the hurting, but quite possibly on the other side of things, not that we’re in a place to talk about that right now, obviously, but we could—” Derek growled, cutting off his rambling distraction.

“I can’t believe you would do something so stupid,” Derek ground out, teeth gritted, hands forming fists as he thought about how easily Stiles traded his comfort and pleasure away.

“You don’t get to judge me, Mr. I-Don’t-Need-Words,” Stiles spat out, a burst of anger lighting up his words. “I _do_ need words, okay, they’re are kind of my thing, and I know you’re not great with them, I’ve never asked you for anything. So you cannot blame me for getting them when I can.”

Derek had to take a breath. A deep one, through his mouth so he couldn’t smell Stiles’ frustration and anger. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, harsh and rough, popping spots onto the insides of his eyelids.

“I’m sorry,” he exhaled, and Stiles immediately countered.

“No, you don’t have to be sorry, it’s not your fault, its just who you are, I knew that already,” he assured, words spilling rapid fire from his nervously bitten lips.

“I’m sorry, anyway,” Derek continued, resting a hand lightly on Stiles’ forearm. “I’m sorry that you thought you had to do that to hear the things you wanted to hear.” Stiles’ cheeks went red with embarrassment and Derek caught his chin in his hand. Their eyes met, both of them swimming in regret and hurt, for reasons different and the same. Derek dropped his hand and his gaze, not yet brave enough to say what he needed to say while maintaining a strong face.

“And it was all true. All the things I said to you, they’re true all the time,” he confessed to the hairs on the back of his partner’s hand. “I do love you. I do think you’re beautiful. I do need you.” He heard Stiles’ breathing shudder and his heart speed up. Derek looked up, meeting his honest eyes. “That’s the first time I’ve said that,” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

Stiles nodded anyway.

“I love you,” Derek said again. “And I’m sorry I don’t know how to say it all the ways you want to hear it, but its true. It’s always true.”

Stiles surged towards him, grabbing his face in desperate hands, pressing gasping mouths against each other, forgetting to breath, hard and chaste as the pressed each other close. Derek cradled his skull in his hands, fingers spanning as wide as possible, holding their lips just apart.

“Don’t you ever hurt yourself or compromise yourself for me,” he ordered, fingers digging in slightly to his partner’s scalp.

“I won’t,” he returned. “And you shouldn’t either.” Derek cut him off with a kiss, but Stiles pulled back, a hand on his chest. “I mean it,” he insisted. “This wasn’t some elaborate cry for help, I’m not trying to change you.”

“I know. And you’re not,” he replied. “But you’re telling me what you need, which is what you’re always telling me to do,” Stiles rolled his eyes and Derek shook him lightly, refocusing them together. “I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Stiles groaned, hands curling into gently fists on Derek’s thighs. “You’re making me feel guilty.”

Derek ducked in for a quick, hard kiss.

“I am sorry,” he continued. “That you felt as though you had to do that. And that you felt as though it wasn’t true when I did say it.”

Stiles shrugged his shoulders with as much bravado as his skin could contain.

“I knew it,” he said self-assuredly. “I just didn’t know if _you_ knew it. I mean, what’s not to love, right?” He asked, an obnoxious grin covering the real insecurities underneath.

Derek just kissed him, pulling him in close, letting his actions speak for him until he found the right words to say. He couldn’t think of anything romantic, or poetic, just bare and honest as Stiles breathed out into his mouth.

“I don’t know,” he whispered against spit-slicked lips, feeling Stiles’ forehead wrinkle against his. “I can’t think of a single thing I don’t love about you.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m naked right now,” Stiles retorted, grinning, but Derek heard the skip in the step of his heart, felt the happy heat in his skin, and allowed him the levity so long as he understood its truth. Derek pulled him in, sliding arms around his back, warming skin that had started to chill in the open air and drying sweat. He pulled him down onto the couch, sliding onto his back and pressing a thigh between his knees as their bodies lined up together so perfectly.

They kissed and touched with the laziness of knowing you had all the time you could ask for. Derek ended up cashing in his rimjob and then let Stiles fuck his face until there were tears dampening the couch. By the time they made it to the bed, they were warm and sleepy and traded handjobs, letting their second orgasms float them off into sleep, wrapped dreamlessly around each other.

 

The next day found some of the pack gathering together at a diner on the edge of town for a late brunch of fluffy pancakes and greasy bacon. Derek always made sure to tip the waiter incredibly well; he knew how disruptive his pack could be. And how sticky they would leave the table.

Stiles had already knocked a bottle of syrup over, and was laughing around his fingers as he licked the sweetness off.

“You are a hazard,” Derek muttered, shooting apologetic eyes to the waiter, Victor, an aging man who had watched the spill with a woeful look on his weathered face.

“And you love me for it,” Stiles affirmed, popping his fingers out of his mouth and turning a dazzling grin onto the wolf.

Derek heard it, clear as day, in a way he hadn’t in the hundreds of times before. Stiles said it so easily, so casually, so boldly despite its never being returned.

In that moment, Derek decided Stiles was probably the bravest person he had ever known.

“No,” Derek answered, catching his sticky, spit-slick hand by the wrist. “I love you in spite of it.”

Stiles beamed, his scent bubbling with happiness as his eyes sparkled. Derek pushed a napkin into his syrupy fingers as he pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. He blushed at Erica’s cooing and rolled his eyes as Isaac gagged into Scott’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to do that,” Stiles said lowly, after regular conversation returned to the table. Derek glanced around at their faces, seeing them all completely absorbed in their own discussion of some upcoming movie he wasn’t familiar with.

“It wasn’t so bad,” he murmured back, brushing the bridge of his nose against the freckles on Stiles’ cheek.

“Well don’t spoil me,” Stiles returned, turning his face to their lips brushed with each word. “I might get used to it.”

“You might have to,” Derek flirted back before pressing their lips fiercely together. Stiles’ smile felt like sunshine against the skin of his face and still sticky fingers wound tightly around his own.

Stiles hummed against his lips. “Sweet talking like that will get you spectacularly fucked when we get home.”

“Oh my God!” Scott shrieked, voice high-pitched and cracking. “I am eating here!” Stiles laughed, like wing through the trees in summer, and swung the arm of the hand Derek was still holding up and over his head, his elbow falling against his neck, their clasped hands coming to rest on his shoulder.

Comfortable and full, the human boy sparkled with happiness. It was a good look on him. Derek squeezed his hand and went on eating his pancakes one-handed. Yeah, he could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> A brief explanation concerning the past Danny/Stiles is below in the comments, if you want to hear more of my headcanon trash.


End file.
